Four years ago, I knew nothing about being a mommy to boys. Four years ago, I was handed my third tiny bundle. Four years ago we began a new journey.
Last night, I kissed Doodle’s head at bedtime. He was fevery (we don’t know why, happened two night before as well) and ready for sleep. He wrapped his little arms around my neck and asked “tomorrow’s my birthday?” I nodded and his smile got as big as his head (and it’s a really big head!) and he said “I’m gonna like my birthday!”
He’s been looking forward to this day since his birthday last year and while I think it’s mostly because of the party he doesn’t get to have (and doesn’t understand), it’s also because it’s his day.
He is so many things.
He is sweet and cuddly.
And he is short-tempered and fiery.
He loves that his baby brother looks up to him and wants to be just like his big sisters.
He loves Star Wars and dress up and making block guns.
He wants every day to be a gymnastics day (his favorite part is the trampoline) and hates nap time.
He squeals in delight anytime we pass a firetruck or police car and loves digging in the dirt.
We call him “Mr. Particular” and he’s still working on his speech and using his words.
He has some secret science for picking truck books out at the library and he desperately wants to do spelling (I told him he needs to learn his letters and how to write his name first.)
In the past four years, he has truly turned me into a “boy mom” and I know he still has so much to teach me. I’m sure he is still holding back some big secrets and surprises, and I’m just along for the ride. But there is really, truly no other place I’d rather be than by his side, holding his hand and letting him go when he’s ready.